Tides of Truth [03] Greater Love (43 page)

“The doctor will be in to see you in a few minutes.”

“Where are Jessie and Sister Dabney?” I asked Zach when the nurse left. “Have they gotten here yet?”

“Stay with her while I check,” Zach said to Julie.

Julie came close to the bed and gently took my hand.

“Are you hurting anywhere?” she asked.

“I’m stiff,” I answered, moving my head from side to side. “It was such a strange feeling in your car. All I wanted to do was close my eyes.”

“You may have had a concussion.”

“But I got out of the car and walked up to the church.”

“Do you always have to argue with me?” Julie sighed. “Maybe it was a light concussion, and it took a few minutes for the impact to penetrate your thick skull.”

I managed a weak smile. An older doctor entered the examination area. He repeated some of the same tests I’d already had along with a few more and asked me simple questions, such as my name, address, phone number, and birthday.

“Ms. Taylor, I think you’re going to be fine,” he said, removing the stethoscope from his ears. “You’ve been through a very stressful situation. I recommend you get some rest and follow up with your regular doctor if you feel you should.”

“What about the other people who were injured?” I asked. “Jessie Whitewater, a teenage girl, and Ramona Dabney, a woman in her late sixties.”

“The girl has already been taken to a room,” the doctor said. “I’m not sure about the other woman. A nurse will be in to help you check out.”

The doctor left.

“I wish he’d asked you my birthday,” Julie said. “That would have been a hard question.”

“April 27.”

Julie nodded. “Correct. I pronounce you healed.”

Zach returned to the examination room.

“Tami is fine,” Julie said to him. “The doctor said her system was trying to shut down because of an overload of stimuli, kind of like a computer that crashes.”

“That’s not what he—,” I started, but the look on Zach’s face stopped me. “What is it?”

“Sister Dabney is gone,” he said soberly. “They weren’t able to revive her at the church.”

“How? What?” I asked, struggling to sit up and not able to form a complete sentence.

“No one knows except Hackney, his men, and Jessie,” Zach replied. “I’m sure they won’t be talking, so we’ll have to wait until we can be with Jessie.”

I collapsed back on the bed and closed my eyes. When I did, I instantly saw Sister Dabney sitting in the blue rocking chair on her porch in the crisp coolness of a bright summer morning, looking at me as only she could—with a gaze that saw to the depths of my soul. No room in my heart was hidden from her view. But there wasn’t any condemnation in her countenance. Only peace. Peace imbued with a gentle love.

Sister Dabney was free of the burdens she’d carried. The scars of rejection, the disappointments of life, the betrayals by those she trusted. All of it gone, washed away in a glorious moment of unlimited grace. A pair of tears rolled out of my eyes and down the sides of my face. I felt a hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes. Zach was standing beside me.

“She’s okay,” I said as the tears flowed freely. “She’s more than okay.”

W
HEN
I
AWOKE IN THE MORNING,
I
WAS STIFF BUT OTHERWISE
fine. I lay in bed for a few minutes. It would take weeks, not hours, to process everything that had happened the previous night. Going upstairs to the kitchen, I called home so I could talk to Daddy and Mama before he left for work. Daddy answered.

“Good morning, Tammy Lynn,” he said when he realized I was on the other end of the line. “Touch the top of your head where I like to kiss you.”

Hearing my father’s kind voice released another wave of emotion. The next few minutes were a disjointed mess as I tried to tell Daddy and Mama what had happened. It took three attempts to convince Mama that I wasn’t seriously injured.

“Please let Mr. Callahan know about Sister Dabney,” I said. “He’s known her since he was a young man.”

“I’ll go by to see him today,” Daddy said.

Mama ended the call with a prayer that made more tears flow.

“We love you,” she said.

A
FTER EATING SOME FRUIT FOR BREAKFAST,
I
DROVE TO THE HOS
pital to check on Jessie and Mrs. Fairmont.

“What’s the room number for Jessie Whitewater?” I asked the lady at the information desk.

The woman typed the name into her computer and examined the screen.

“How do you spell that?” she asked.

I spelled the name and waited.

“I don’t find a record of her admission,” she said.

I leaned forward over the desk. “She was admitted last night through the ER via ambulance from Gillespie Street.”

The woman looked up at me then reached under her desk and pulled out the morning paper.

“Did it have to do with this?”

She put the newspaper on the counter. On the front page was an article with the headline “Woman Killed by Intruders at Church.” A photo of Sister Dabney was positioned beside a picture of the church. Tiny photos of Clay Hackney and me were off to one side. My picture was the one taken the previous summer by the public relations firm that worked for Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter. My name appeared in the first paragraph as the driver of a car that rammed the vehicle carrying Hackney, two other men, and a young woman named Jessie Beanfield.

“Jessie Beanfield?” I said out loud.

The woman at the information desk typed in the name.

“She’s in room 3487.”

I returned the newspaper to the woman and took the elevator to the third floor. Jessie’s room was on the left toward the end of the hall. The door was closed. I knocked. There wasn’t an answer. I peeked inside.

Jessie was lying in bed with an IV in her arm and her eyes closed. I stepped closer and looked at her wristband. I could clearly see the name, Jessie Beanfield, with the date of admission beneath it.

“Jessie Beanfield,” I repeated softly.

Jessie’s eyes fluttered open. She touched her face with her free hand.

“They put me in a terrible place—,” she started.

“That you aren’t going back to.”

I leaned over and kissed her cheek as if she were one of the twins. Jessie’s eyes suddenly widened in fear.

“Sister Dabney,” she said. “The man in the blue shirt hit her in the head with his gun.”

I pressed my lips together for a moment to prepare myself.

“She’s dead.”

Jessie shut her eyes. “She told them I belonged to God, and they couldn’t take me.”

“I think she was right.”

Jessie opened her eyes. “I remember hearing your voice before I got in the ambulance. How did you find me?”

An aide arrived with Jessie’s breakfast. While she ate, I told her what we’d done. She listened soberly.

“What’s going to happen to me?” she asked when I finished.

“To answer that, I need the truth.”

Over the next few minutes, I leaned that she was fifteen years old and didn’t have any close relatives. She also told me about a metal box at the vacant lot where she’d stayed that contained more of the bearer bonds.

“How many of the certificates are there?” I asked.

“About nine or ten. What are they?”

“Bearer bonds issued by the German government. They’re legal, but occasionally used by criminals to transfer money so it can’t be traced. I need to get them and turn them over to the police.”

Jessie seemed more interested in what would happen to the charges against her.

“It will be sent to juvenile court and handled easily,” I answered. “How did you come up with the new name?”

“Whitewater sounded so much better than Beanfield. My father is dead, and I didn’t want Clay to find me or have to go back to live with my stepmother.”

“You’ll have to go back to Jessie Beanfield now.”

“Mrs. Fairmont told me your real name is Tammy Lynn, and you changed it when you came to Savannah.”

“That’s true, but it’s different with last names.”

“Do you think I can live with you and Mrs. Fairmont? I don’t want to go back to my stepmother.”

I couldn’t deny the pleading look in Jessie’s eyes.

“I’ll work on it if Mrs. Fairmont wants you to stay with us as soon as she gets out of the hospital.”

“She’s in the hospital?” Jessie asked, sitting up straighter in the bed. “Can I see her?”

“I’ll check with one of the nurses.”

Ten minutes later, Jessie was pushing her IV pole quickly down the hall toward the elevator.

“Slow down,” I said. “The wheels on your IV pole aren’t built for racing.”

We reached Mrs. Fairmont’s room. I let Jessie go in first, then followed close enough to see the reaction. The elderly woman was sipping coffee. When she saw Jessie, she almost dropped the cup. Jessie rushed toward the bed and they hugged. Jessie sat on the edge of the bed and held Mrs. Fairmont’s hand while I told the older woman about Sister Dabney. To Mrs. Fairmont, who had lost many friends, death was less a stranger. She turned to Jessie.

“She loved you, Jessie. And there’s no greater love than sacrificing your life for someone else.”

Jessie nodded.

Mrs. Fairmont continued, “I’ll see her before you do and tell her thank you.”

When it was time for me to leave, I prepared to return Jessie to her room.

“Please let me stay,” she begged.

“I’ll take responsibility for her,” Mrs. Fairmont said.

I hesitated.

“I’ll talk to the nurse on duty,” Mrs. Fairmont said. “Maybe Jessie can stay until it’s time for the doctor to check on her.”

When I left Jessie was sitting in a chair beside the bed reading Mrs. Fairmont’s stack of get-well cards to her.

T
HERE WAS A MAELSTROM OF ACTIVITY AT THE OFFICE.
T
WO TRUCKS
from TV stations were parked outside. I remained in the car and called inside on my cell phone. Shannon answered.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“In the car in the parking lot.”

“This place is swarming with reporters, and the phone’s been ringing off the hook.”

“Are Maggie and Julie there?”

“Yes, they’re in Maggie’s office.” Shannon paused. “Is it true what I read in the paper about the Dabney woman?”

“Yes. She was trying to protect Jessie.”

“I called my husband last night,” Shannon said, speaking slowly. “We talked on the phone for a couple of hours. I’m sorry I reacted so badly to Ms. Dabney—”

“She was used to people reacting to her that way,” I said. “The important thing is that whatever she told you is helping you now.”

“I think it will. Or at least it’s a start. Hold on. I’ll connect you with Maggie.”

“I’m here with Julie and have you on speaker,” Maggie said. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“Stiff and sore but okay otherwise. I’m in the parking lot, but I’m not sure if I should get out of the car—”

“Tami, you’re a folk hero for ramming the bad guy’s car,” Julie cut in. “I told one of the reporters you learned to drive hauling moonshine in the mountains. Many a night you had to run the revenuers off the road to deliver a shipment.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“But I thought it.”

“What should I say to the reporters?”

“How much do you want to say?” Maggie asked.

“As little as possible. If they ask me about Sister Dabney, I’m going to cry.”

“Then tell them you can’t comment on what took place because it’s part of an ongoing criminal investigation.”

I got out of the car. The reporters were camped out in the reception area, making it look very small. I had the unusual experience of being instantly recognized by strangers.

“Let’s take it outside,” one of the lead reporters said.

“I’m going to be praying on the inside,” I whispered to Maggie as we flowed into the parking lot.

I used Maggie’s suggested response to the first question, but when a female reporter asked me about Jessie, I mentioned how people in Savannah like Julie and Mrs. Fairmont had reached out to help her, then made it clear that Jan Crittenden, even though she was a prosecutor, had gone beyond the call of duty to find a positive way to deal with a tough situation. When Sister Dabney’s name came up, I was able to keep my emotions in check and used the time to deliver a short eulogy based on Mrs. Fairmont’s reference to love and sacrifice at the hospital. Sister Dabney might not have a fancy funeral, but people on the evening news would know she’d lived life doing her best to help those who needed it the most. After the cameras were turned off and the newspaper reporters had asked their final questions, Maggie and Julie came over to me.

“That was beautiful,” Julie said without a hint of sarcasm in her voice. “You shouldn’t have spouted those nice things about me, but Sister Dabney deserved everything good you said about her.”

“You couldn’t have been more articulate,” Maggie added. “I think God answered your prayer.”

“More than one,” I replied. “And many more than I deserve.”

25

I
T SNOWED EVERY TEN YEARS OR SO AT
C
HRISTMASTIME IN
P
OWELL
Station. On December 24, I awoke to fat flakes drifting down from a gray morning sky. I slipped out of bed and, standing at the bedroom window, watched the soft whiteness cover every imperfection in sight. I pressed my hand to the cold windowpane. The twins were still asleep. Once awake, they would end any chance to enjoy the snowy scene in peace.

Zach was sleeping on the daybed in the downstairs sewing room. Two days earlier, we’d been holding hands on a sunny beach in Southern California. I’d loved California and, a few hours after getting off the plane, stopped worrying that the ground beneath my feet was about to break off and fall into the ocean.

Halfway through a weeklong visit with Zach’s family, I overheard his mother tell his sister that she thought I was the nicest girl he’d ever brought home. Later, I asked Zach how many girls had preceded me. He smiled and told me he couldn’t remember because none of them counted.

The world of the Mays family was very different from Powell Station, but a common faith is the strongest bridge across any divide. And the gospel has the power to unite people from all points of the compass, even a girl from the mountains of Georgia with a family in a suburb of Los Angeles. One evening while sitting beneath a trellis covered in brilliant bougainvillea blossoms, Zach’s family enjoyed a time of fellowship as rich as any I’d experienced with my own family. From that point forward, I felt accepted, not just out of politeness, but with genuine affection.